


Night of Nights

by floralstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Not Hunters, Animal Sacrifice, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Multi, Ritual Sex, Rituals, Samhain, Witch Dean, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2545547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralstiel/pseuds/floralstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Others watched with bared want, bodies naked to the moon, glistening with sweat and blood not their own, flushed and aroused. The stomping of their feet churned the red into the ground and they whooped and hollered, stained teeth shone in the dark and wounds oozed, rank and festering. Eldritch instruments twanged and sang into the night air, their sweet chords lost on the ears of those gathered. The hour drew closer and it was greeted by shrieks and snaps of magic in the air, augmented by fresh spilled blood from the necks of goats and oxen and humans all alike in the center on the altar. The human blood smelled the sweetest, its copper tang heavy with promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night of Nights

Wild light flickered through his jade eyes like fire and he danced like no other around him. A mask obscured his face, shadowed as it was in the dying light of the eve of all hallows. It was an old thing, passed down from hand to hand to appear again on this night, this singular night unique from all others before it and from those to come after. It had the shape of a horned beast’s skull, fractured, mocking with its eternal grin, and through the eye sockets those charged eyes glowed. Voices sang loud in mirth, chanting in the tongues of old as he danced and danced in time, bare feet a blur of motion over the packed earth. Dust rose to flow with him, a pantomime of a whirlwind.

Others watched with bared want, bodies naked to the moon, glistening with sweat and blood not their own, flushed and aroused. The stomping of their feet churned the red into the ground and they whooped and hollered, stained teeth shone in the dark and wounds oozed, rank and festering. Eldritch instruments twanged and sang into the night air, their sweet chords lost on the ears of those gathered. The hour drew closer and it was greeted by shrieks and snaps of magic in the air, augmented by fresh spilled blood from the necks of goats and oxen and humans all alike in the center on the altar. The human blood smelled the sweetest, its copper tang heavy with promise. He made his way to the altar, bleeding from the wrists, the wounds superficial but enough for what they were for.

The others parted for him, they weren’t important and he was, and they all touched him as he passed. A hand on a shoulder, fingers in his mouth, a cock on his stomach, breasts on his shoulder blades and a wet mound against the cleft of his ass. He was desirable, but he was not for them. The altar was cleared and he draped himself over it, pressing his back against the warmth of blood and fire warmed stone. The others moaned in response when he did, a deep sigh that echoed through the now silent crowd and down into the earth. The trees around the clearing bristled and swayed in the wind that howled through them, stirring the beds of leaves into frenzy as he painted his body with his blood, smearing tracks over the already caked on layers of grime. Eyes glittered black and yellow and red, but not his.

The mask was torn from his face—his clean, beautiful face—when the winds grew stronger, gales ripping through the congregation like the very hands of God. Yes, this clearing long dead and soiled in blood was their chapel. He bared his teeth and cackled at the thought. God was nowhere near, not this night. A bound man was brought forward, gagged and blindfolded and he had yelled till his voice had gone out. They brought him to the altar and lifted him easily, they were powerful on this night of nights, and they arranged his body to straddle the other.

Green eyes fluttered and he twisted his hips up, grinning lewdly when the bound man tried to flinch away. The others stepped away and began to chant and moan. The moon was high and full and bright, now was the time to raise _him_ up, to raise the long dead and have him claim the night as his own. He raised his voice above the others, staring up at the bound man as he chanted and writhed and dug his fingers into the man’s hips to keep him still. The bound man was bucking and moaning in panic when the voices rose in volume, when the winds blew from four directions and converged over the altar, buffeting both of them like the hands of an abuser. The wind tore the man’s blindfold free and he stared around with wide eyes before he looked down at the man beneath him. The one below winked up at him and chanted even louder still, shivering and shrieking through the moans that tried desperately to be heard through his steady voice.

Thunder boomed low overhead and lightning cracked and illuminated the clearing stark and harsh and then finally the earth yawned open wide and all manner of ghouls and hell’s creatures crawled out, spewing venom and fumes, feeding on a few squealing unfortunates. He laughed, finally, deep and guttural and full of promise and the bound man screamed behind his gag when a final enormous dark _thing_ clawed its way out of the earth before the chasm caved in on itself, as if it were never there. The others screamed and shrieked and danced when the dark slammed against the altar, fighting its way into the bound man through every bared orifice and the man beneath reached up to tear away the gag, howling in triumph when the dark finished coiling into the man’s mouth, like an oil slick all greasy and thick and cloying. He waited on baited breath as the ropes fell away, burnt from his touch, and when the man opened his eyes they were milky white with black pupils and the noise rose to a roar when he leaned forward and claimed the other man’s lips in a harsh biting kiss and he muttered:

“Samhain has risen, another seal is broken.”

The man mewled plaintively and bucked his hips and the demon cooed and placed his weight even heavier against his groin.

“Oh, Dean, Dean, Dean…” Samhain purred, curling his tongue around the shell of the moaning man’s ear. “My favorite little witch, what a magnificent body you have chosen for me.”

“Yes,” Dean moaned raggedly, “looked everywhere for it. It was hitting on me in a grocery store, of all places.”

“And you just took it,” Samhain smirked.

“I invited it to our little gathering here, omitting certain details of course.”

“Of course,” Samhain laughed breathily, moving down and biting along Dean’s stomach and thighs, lapping and chewing on the bloody flesh and Dean keened, knocking his head back against the rock.

“Careful boy…”

“M’not a boy.”

“Oh but I know, Dean,” Samhain hissed, suddenly brutal as he bit through his skin and lapped at his blood. “600 years I have waited, what the fuck were you doing?”

“Had to wait that long!” Dean cried out, his leg jittering as Samhain nibbled at the skin inside his upper thigh. “Ritual would not have been complete otherwise!”

Samhain hummed in thought, though Dean knew if the demon had truly been angry with him he would have already been dashed against the rock altar like a piece of overly ripe fruit.

When Samhain’s member pressed into his waiting body Dean sighed in pleasure, and the few surrounding them that remained conscious moaned in shared ecstasy. Samhain rutted into his witch with quick strong thrusts that caused Dean to drag across the stone. His back would be torn apart and raw, but for the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. The meatsuit he chose for his master had an impressively muscled and large body, and a proportional cock—whoever the man pleasured before this night had been very lucky indeed—and Dean looked forward to all the ways he could partake of it, to pleasure his master in all the best ways that only Dean knew. When their pleasure rose to a peak and his master spilled inside of him Dean screamed through his release, bucking and clawing down Samhain’s stolen back and the demon rumbled deep in his throat, hunkering down to press Dean’s body against the stone as he licked into his mouth, claiming it in such a complete and primal way Dean could hardly stand it.

Dean shuddered through the aftershocks of his pleasure as Samhain took from his body again. Dean didn’t mind; Samhain had been trapped in the pit for centuries, he deserved to take from his body as long as he wanted, or—as Dean felt Samhain release inside of him again and collapse against his chest—as long as his meatsuit could handle it. Dean parted bloodied, split lips and grinned.

Tonight was, indeed, a night of nights.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this about 2 years ago and never posted it (I keep chickening out) so here it is before I change my mind. I left it sort of vague as to who Dean kidnapped to be Samhain's vessel (in the original draft when I first wrote it, it was Sam) but I like to imagine it was Benny, the hapless Cajun chef. If you spot anything else I should warn for in the tags, please let me know, otherwise I hope you enjoyed it~


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